


13 - Not Good

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge 2017, Anal Sex, Day 13, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sherlock Being Creepy, Sherlock is a drunken and horny fool, Sleeping John, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:02:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock is in bed with John but theoretically only to sleep. They're out of town for the weekend, more than a bit drunk, and John is out cold. Sherlock has an impulse and talks himself into going for it.





	13 - Not Good

_This was wrong wrong wrong._ Sherlock didn’t try to lie to himself. This was more than a bit not good. This was the kind of thing that earned you jail time, or at the very least, a very unsavoury and lingering reputation. No matter what he told himself though, how he chided himself, he was still doing it. Edging closer to a partially nude and heavily unconscious John Watson, Sherlock leaned in and inhaled deeply.

_Fuck._

John smelled fantastic. He was a bit sweaty, a bit musky, a bit sour, and a lot masculine. Sherlock bit his lower lip to stifle a moan. _This was bad bad bad wrong_. He needed to go away, to control himself, to stop.

He didn’t.

Sherlock was an addict and John was just about the best drug he’d ever come across. _How was Sherlock supposed to resist gathering data about his devilishly handsome and sassy flatmate, especially when John was passed out drunk, arse up, and snoring?_ He couldn’t find it in himself to do so. _John was right there_.

Sherlock wondered if getting drunk together while out of town was a good idea. Even sober, Sherlock had a near impossible time keeping his hands off of John, but here they were. He normally avoided hard liquor as well, he’d originally scoffed at reports that alcohol lowered your inhibitions but after a few weekends at uni where he’d had some _close but not quite_ encounters, Sherlock had sworn off, except for the odd shot here or there. Not four or possibly five or more with John just before they climbed into bed together. They hadn’t planned on staying over which was why John was currently sleeping in his pants and vest and nothing else. He was completely out, too. John hadn’t had dinner and had just laughed their way through a large portion of some very fine scotch. _John would probably stop him, the soldier had a sixth sense about times where Sherlock was likely to go astray, it was actually very eerie_.

Sherlock decided to check, “John?” he shook John’s shoulder softly and then less softly. He realised that John was passed out and tried to recall a conversation they’d had about tea and saying no. He didn’t recall exactly how it went but there was something about not giving tea to someone while they were asleep. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking about tea so he went back to the problem at hand, or rather, the problem in his hand.

Sherlock was hard and it wasn’t one of those casual erections he got when he woke some mornings, nor the idly curious ones he got when John did something surprising and interesting. This one was fierce, throbbing, and determined. Sherlock needed to masturbate, and now.

John was going to kill him but…

Sherlock reasoned hazily that John couldn’t be mad about something he was unaware of and it wasn’t like there would be proof. He was just having a wank in bed next to John. He had a towel ready and everything. He’d toss off, put the towel in the laundry bag the hotel had ready, and go to sleep with John none the wiser.

_Oh, John._

Sherlock gazed at John with longing. He loved watching John sleep, he did it often. At first, it had made him feel awkward because he knew it was _wrong_ to creep into someone’s room just to watch them sleep but John was so interesting. He had nightmares. He mumbled half-coherent words or phrases. Sometimes, John _touched_ himself.

The first time it happened, Sherlock needed to creep back to his room to masturbate furiously, covering his face with a pillow to hide his loud grunts of pleasure. Sleeping John had taken his cock from his pants and tugged it until it was hard, his lovely cockhead almost purple with blood. It looked delicious. After that, Sherlock made a habit of watching John rest, hoping for repeats of that night. Sherlock’s mouth watered at the memory of it and he regretted that tonight, John had fallen asleep on his stomach. Sherlock wanted to see John’s cock while he stroked himself.

Without thinking, Sherlock put his mouth to John’s ear and spoke softly but with command, “On your back, John.”

“Fuck off, Sherlock, tired,” John grumbled blearily but obediently flopped over, resuming his snore, clearly still sleeping. Sherlock stifled another groan because John’s tee had ridden up, baring his soft belly. His cock was still soft but it was so generous in dimension that it mounded up beautifully beneath the thin fabric of his plain white pants. Sherlock enjoyed the contrast of John’s honey skin tone against the white of the linens and his pants, it made John’s body that much easier to perceive in the dimness. Their only light source was from the loo where they’d forgotten to shut it off, too drunk and tired to care.

Sherlock was running his fingers over his own cock, enjoying the whispery strokes as he fingered the head and teased his foreskin up and down. John asleep was very different than John awake. John slept with a small frown crinkling his brow as if daring the world to wake him before he was ready. Sherlock stroked himself carefully after licking his palm and fingers generously. _What he wouldn_ _’_ _t give to peel down John_ _’_ _s pants and feel John_ _’_ _s cock._ Without thinking he whispered, “I want your cock in me.”

“M’sleeping.” John sounded testy and exhausted, instantly resuming snoring yet again. It made Sherlock wonder about how the soldier was able to respond to Sherlock’s words and then he understood that John had spent years with part of his awareness always on high alert. It was a habit he’d been unable to let go, his soldier and doctor instincts combined making him capable of rolling out of bed completely awake and functional, ready for action. Sherlock stopped thinking when John stuck his hand in his pants and gripped his cock.

Sherlock understood that he’d just bitten his own lip hard enough to bleed. _John_ _’_ _s hand was moving a bit, he was rubbing himself!_ Sherlock stroked his hard, not speeding up very much because he wanted this experience to last. Carefully, he moved until he was able to kneel beside John, his thighs spread a bit, his skin dewy with sweat. _This wasn_ _’_ _t a good idea, not at all_. John was so lovely, kitten soft and harmless appearing. His thighs were lightly haired and his exposed thanks to the rollover. “You need to cover up,” he whispered regretfully, “It’s cold in here.”

John snored defiantly and didn’t move. If anything, his hand stroked in a cheeky fashion, as if daring Sherlock. _Well, Sherlock wasn_ _’_ _t going to take that kind of attitude from a sexual organ!_ Shuffling closer, Sherlock stayed exactly two inches away from John’s hip and incredibly sexy bum, stroking his hard cock firmly as he allowed his gaze to roam up and down John’s supine form.

Sherlock reached out. He didn’t touch, he didn’t dare, but he did allow his fingertips to make slow paths in the air as he followed the lines and curves of John’s enticing flesh. Even from this distance, Sherlock could feel the enticing heat of John’s body calling to him. He resisted. _What he was doing was bad enough but sleeping John was just so accessible and tempting_.

Sitting up, Sherlock sat on his heels and stroked. Using a bit of saliva helped but despite the level of need and arousal he felt, he still wasn’t able to come. After several long minutes of trying, Sherlock became a tiny bit more reckless.

He _smelled_ John.

First, he began at John’s hair. He stayed away from John’s face because that’s where John kept his mouth and Sherlock really wanted to kiss that but he wasn’t allowed _. Well, he also probably wasn_ _’_ _t allowed to wank inches away from John_ _’_ _s near-naked body but he was doing so. So bad, wrong, not good so not good_. The bit behind John’s ear was sharp. John’s neck smelled like sweat and Sherlock wanted to lick it. His collarbone was a bit salty but also a tiny bit savoury, the twang in Sherlock’s nose led him to John’s armpits which he found bizarrely good.

He lingered there a while, eyes closed, breathing harder than normal and stroking. He had to brace himself on his other hand as he crouched there in the semi-darkness hoping that John didn’t wake up. John was still snoring softly but his hand was moving again, pushing down his pants below his bollocks and taking up his shaft to stroke along with Sherlock. Sherlock made note of everything he could see, all his estimations adjusted to contain facts he now knew like the shape, girth, and length of John’s penis. John must be having a sex dream, likely about one of those actresses he fawned over or one of his pointless ex-girlfriends. Sherlock didn’t have memories like that to draw on. He just had John, and he didn’t even really have him. _Bad bad bad Sherlock_.

Sherlock was so close but he couldn’t quite get there.

With great care he shuffled over again, this time leaning his head over John’s crotch to inhale deeply. John’s arousal was heady and Sherlock could practically taste the pre-ejaculate that was gathering slowly. He too was beginning to leak, and he used his to slick his palm a bit more, almost groaning with pleasure as he swirled his hand over his crown. He tried to smell John’s pubic hair without actually touching him but John’s hand was erratic. Sherlock was tremendously shocked when an upward stroke from the soldier caused John’s shaft to thump Sherlock’s cheek firmly.

He froze.

John just lay there, his hand moving as if nothing had happened. His snoring had stopped but the mumbling had started, “S’good. Y’like it. Go’n.” John held his cock at the base and pushed his hips up a tiny bit. Sherlock hadn’t moved away so John’s cock hit his cheek a second time. Sherlock closed his eyes and willed himself to move away but he couldn’t. He was afraid to say anything for fear of drooling all over John. He tried to swallow but it didn’t seem to help. He whimpered when a gravelly voice growled out an order, “Open.” _John was asleep. He was just talking in his sleep_.

Sherlock tried to call John’s name. His lips parted but before he could speak John had deftly begun rubbing the head of his cock over Sherlock's lips. Sherlock’s eyes squeezed shut as his brain went into high gear, cataloguing and recording the pressure, heat, taste, and duration of the event. Allowing his mouth to relax, Sherlock let his head sink down, taking John’s cock into him. _He was fellating John. John had put his cock into Sherlock_ _’_ _s mouth and it was delicious! This was terrible. John was going to kill him_.

Deciding on his death row final meal, Sherlock began to suck John off properly. _If he was going to die, he was going to die with John_ _’_ _s come on his tongue._ His own erection forgotten, Sherlock braced himself on his hands and worked on taking John deep and steady. His gag reflex was a bit of a problem but he made himself relax enough that John could bump up against the back of his mouth if he needed to.

Sherlock managed to drool on his own fingers. Reaching behind himself, he applied the spit to his hole, rubbing and swirling pushing in. John felt so good in his mouth, Sherlock was eager to know what John would feel like in his bottom. _He wasn_ _’_ _t going to do it, that was too far, but he could imagine, couldn_ _’_ _t he, especially now that he knew John_ _’_ _s dimensions with such accuracy_? “So beautiful.” John was moaning.

Sherlock frowned for a moment. _John was dreaming of some woman or other. He probably thought she was giving him a blowjob. Well. Sherlock would show her a thing or two about fellatio! Did she have a cock? No, she did not. She didn_ _’_ _t know what felt best or anything useful but Sherlock Holmes knew all the data!_ With furious jealousy, Sherlock used his mind palace, which was a bit swimmy, to pull together everything he knew about penile anatomy, nerve clusters, and friction. In no time he was sucking and lapping, keeping his mouth tight but also using his tongue to stimulate John whose appreciative moans were coming out loud and clear.

“Gonna fuck you so hard, love,” John promised with another growl. Sherlock shivered, “Keep going, beautiful, don’t stop yet.” What kind of dream lover did John have anyway? Sherlock felt his possessive anger begin to grow hotter but then John completely shocked him. Eyes still closed, the soldier popped two of his own fingers into his mouth, wetting them, and then _JOHN GROPED SHERLOCK_ _’_ _S ARSE!_

Sherlock knew he was mentally shouting but for the love of everything logical, John Watson was _fingering_ Sherlock’s arse. _John was in fact, sticking a finger right into Sherlock_ _’_ _s arse, right now, right at this very moment, there it went, in. It was in. It was out again. No, John put it back in again. Oh oh oh he was doing it deliberately. John Watson was fucking Sherlock Holmes_ _’_ _arse with his finger right now right the fuck now and Sherlock had John_ _’_ _s cock in his mouth_.

He very nearly came but didn’t.

John’s other hand was on Sherlock’s head now, and fingers were threading into his curls, “That’s it, beautiful, you’re doing it just right. Don’t stop, love, please, it’s so good.” John begging him to keep sucking his cock wasn’t unpleasant, nor was the way his hand tugged Sherlock’s hair just a tiny amount. Even more encouraging was the second finger that was joining the first, the saliva not quite enough to stop the stinging so Sherlock drooled on his fingers again and applied it quickly to the area that needed it, “Yeah, so filthy, I knew you would be.” John’s moans were approving and Sherlock felt his arousal increase even more.

Since John was no longer holding his penis, Sherlock decided to do it. “Yeah, touch me, love.” John was beginning to undulate a bit and it was so arousing that Sherlock groaned deeply and John moaned right after, “Do that again, love.” Sherlock did and felt John’s hand tighten on his scalp as he responded happily. Sherlock watched as John’s bollocks began to draw up. He was close. John might come in his mouth, “Sherlock,” John sighed, “I don’t want to come yet, I’m going to fuck you, okay?”

Sherlock froze, his eyes wide open. John had just called him by name and said he wanted to fuck him. _John was awake? John knew how Sherlock was molesting him? Sherlock was going to die. John was probably going to shoot him with his unregistered handgun and then what?_ John didn’t though. What he did was sit up, push Sherlock flat onto his belly and climb up behind him, “Gonna fuck you so hard, Sherlock, you’ve wanted it, just like me, haven’t you?”

John wasn’t exactly asking but Sherlock finally got over his shock long enough to gasp out one word, “Yes!” His reward was John’s cock pressing against his barely prepared hole but that was fine just fine because it was warm and broad, painful and glorious, strange and perfect.

“That’s my boy, my beautiful gorgeous Sherlock.” _John was perfectly lucid, he knew what he was doing_ , “All those nights, my love, all those nights I hoped you wanted me.” Sherlock was shocked all over again. _John knew?_ “My sweet boy, you didn’t know how to ask, did you? I should have said something but it was so lovely, so gentle, so marvellous to have you there in the dark, watching over me, being with me, my beautiful Sherlock.”

John pushed in slowly and it hurt beautifully. “Ow!”

John giggled, “Sorry sweetie, I’m still kind of drunk. I’ll go slow, okay?”

“Just don’t stop.”

“I won’t, love,” John moaned, “I wanted this so much, love, for so long. You feel amazing, best I’ve ever had and I’m just getting started.”

Sherlock found himself blushing a bit but also sighing happily because the discomfort was fading and he was becoming very aware of how hot John’s cock was and how he could feel it so clearly inside him. “You’re my first.”

“I know, my beautiful boy, I want to make it good for you. Sorry, I’m not altogether right now but I can’t wait anymore. You’re so sexy, Sherlock, just fucking hot. I’ve wanted you so much I can barely think of anything else. Waking up to you all hard and naked was like a dream.” John paused, “This better not be a dream. I’m going to be so mad if this is a dream.”

“If it is, we’re both having it.” Sherlock managed to twist his torso enough to look back toward John who leaned forward. Their mouths met for the first time, their bodies stilling just long enough for them to share a brief kiss, “I knew it wasn’t right to do what I was doing.”

“You can do anything with me, you know that.” John was moving faster and they were both panting now, “Fuck me awake any time you want, beautiful, I’ll be your love slave forever if you’ll let me, god your mouth was absolute heaven.” John’s promises only added to the tension that was climbing, “I’m close, love. Fuck, we’re not even using condoms!”

Sherlock hadn’t even considered that. _That was bad too, for entirely different reasons_. “We’ll get tested later, right now, just fuck me, John!” John lay full on Sherlock’s back, his body bucking in the most perfect way before John’s hand snaked down beneath Sherlock to begin working his cock, “John!” Sherlock cried out. He hadn’t expected that and it was the final bit of stimulation he needed, especially when John bit his shoulder blade and began to piston his hips rapidly, grunting each time he seated himself fully within Sherlock’s eager body. “I’m coming!”

Sherlock felt his toes curl and his knees try to draw up but John was pressing him down, slamming into his behind so hard that he could hear their bodies slapping together loudly. His hips and groin almost hurt with the intensity of his orgasm, the blissful pulses radiating out in waves of absolute delight. Sherlock let loose a long drawn out cry as he emptied himself, fucking through John’s fingers to help spend himself completely.

John went still for a second before moving fast enough to almost hurt. He bit Sherlock’s shoulder again and then grunted once, twice, thrice, and then Sherlock felt a new warmth bloom inside him as John’s cock swelled slightly and throbbed its load deep within his body. They lay there for a long time, their skin slick with sweat, their cocks slowly shrinking, and their brains clearing slowly. John was the first to react, a small giggle bursting forth, “We are insane, sometimes.”

“Why? Is it chasing insane criminals or having unprotected sex whilst inebriated?”

“Yeah, that.” John hadn’t made a choice but then he didn’t need to. Sherlock understood.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know. I was just checking.”

Sherlock lay there enjoying John’s weight on him, “I want you to be my boyfriend, John.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Seems to be.”

“Very well.”

After some time, John left Sherlock’s back and slipped over to hug Sherlock’s side. After a bit more time, they staggered to the loo and took a joint shower in the too small stall. When they came out, they prudently chose the unused bed to try and sleep in, since the first bed was more than slightly soiled. Both men were still a tiny bit drunk but more giddy with relief and happiness, “I thought you’d kill me for what I was doing.”

“Yet you still did it.” Sherlock felt ashamed as John spoke, “I’m not angry.”

“You aren’t? You should be. I’m a creeper. People get put in jail for things like that.”

John shrugged, “Have you done this with anyone else?”

“John! Don’t be revolting. Why would I want to watch anyone else sleep?” Sherlock thought the very idea was repugnant. _Who could possibly be more intriguing or interesting that John Watson, seriously?_

“We’re messed up.” John said quietly before yawning, “I’m still drunk, I’m really tired now, and all I want to know is if you’re going to regret this in the morning?”

“It is morning.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“Then we’re sorted. ‘Night, love.” Within seconds, John was snoring again, cuddled up to Sherlock but limp and relaxed. Sherlock arranged them so that he was spooned up to John’s back before he allowed himself to relax. He’d risked everything foolishly and only John’s tremendous character had seen them through it. Relieved and contented, Sherlock closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off, his boyfriend safe in his arms.


End file.
